Andrea Moran and the Intricacies of Bestial Politics
by UnpredictableW1tch
Summary: Andrea Moran was not an ordinary child. Not even close, to be perfectly honest. Even by wizarding standards. So much so that Andrea was convinced she wouldn't be accepted into any decent wizarding school on the planet. But she hadn't taken one thing into account. Andrea hadn't counted on Albus Dumbledore. The greatest sorcerer int he world.
1. Extended Summary

Andrea Moran was not an ordinary child. Not even close to be perfectly honest.

For one thing, she was a witch.

But even other witches and wizards would consider Andrea and her family incredibly odd. For good reason. So Andrea never expected to be allowed to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Parents of other children wouldn't want their children to be trapped in a castle with her.

But she hadn't counted on one thing. Albus Dumbledore. The greatest wizard of the age. He never gave a damn what prejudices other wizards carried. If you had the talent, he would teach you.

And he wanted to teach Andrea.

He gave Andrea a chance she never thought she'd get in her wildest dreams. She was going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She was going to learn magic. She was going to be a fully qualified witch.

If she survived long enough.


	2. The Number Eleven

**Chapter One**

 **The Number Eleven**

* * *

 **Summary:**

Andrea Moran's eleventh birthday was fast approaching. But unlike every other child in the wizarding world, she was looking toward her birthday with dread. Not excitement.

* * *

Andrea Moran was not an ordinary child. Not even close, to be perfectly honest.

For one thing, she was a witch.

But even other witches and wizards would consider Andrea and her family incredibly odd.

Her father was a wizard, but a rather eccentric wizard. He owned a horse ranch on a hidden island just off the Northern Irish coast. Well the ranch was the entire island. He did raise some ordinary horses. But most of the horses on their property were magical. Unicorns and winged horses and omen horses and all kinds of magical equines.

They even had a few Abaths. Someone had tried to import them illegally. And the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures put them in her father's care. They were too delicate to survive another long journey between Ireland and Malaysia.

And her mother.

Well.

Her mother wasn't a witch. She wasn't even human.

She was an Arctic Harpy.

Yes. That's right. A harpy. A vicious, wild harpy.

At least, that's what the wizarding world at large thought of her mother's people. They were convinced they were violent and barbaric. Nothing anyone could say to the contrary would change their minds.

Never mind that Andrea's mother was the greatest, most wonderful being Andrea had ever known. Who loved Andrea and her father so much that it was hard to believe anyone could care that much.

They didn't care.

So Andrea didn't even try anymore.

She'd given up trying to change witch's and wizard's minds on anything so simple as the price of dragon liver by the time she was six.

At least the rest of her family didn't hold the same opinions on harpies anymore. Not since they'd actually met her mother, long before Andrea had been born. Her cousins, aunts, and uncles all loved Ursa. She'd helped them with several sticky situations - Arctic Harpies were unparalleled diviners, and gave excellent advice.

Ursa wouldn't have put up with anything else from Aiden's extended family.

She was widely respected among harpies and other sentient magical creatures, and was the matriarch of her flock. If the Morans hadn't treated her, or her other children who were all fully harpy, with respect Andrea wouldn't have come about.

Her and her people were extremely proud. She would likely have given them some nasty scars and never seen Andrea's father ever again.

But her family's acceptance was something very singular. Which stemmed from the fact that the Morans were considered very odd indeed. Her father's family was made up of adventurers, naturalists, duellists and Quidditch players. But she did have one cousin who was a boxer. And an uncle who was an accountant - and was thus considered a little strange by the rest of the family.

Because of that, they were a lot more widely travelled than most people in the wizarding world. The fact that they'd chosen such occupations meant they were far more daring than most wizards too.

Harpies really didn't faze them all that much, considering what they got up to on a regular basis.

Other wizarding families wouldn't have been quite so easily swayed to acknowledge such a thing as Andrea as being anything other than the foulest of crimes against nature. Which Andrea had been made aware of all her life, for her own safety. So she wouldn't go around telling everyone she met about the fact that she could grow wings and talons whenever she wanted. They might get a bunch of former Death Eaters banging down their door if she did anything like that.

And it was for that reason Andrea wasn't at all looking forward to her eleventh birthday.

When most magical children turned eleven they were able to start attending magical school and learn actual magic. Not just the little tricks and titbits she picked up from her family members when they whipped out their wands.

But Andrea knew that if her family's badly kept secret got out to anyone else, no other parent would want her attending the same school as their children. Not at Hogwarts. Not at Queen Maeve's Druidic Academy. Nor Beauxbatons. Definitely not at Durmstrang - they didn't even allow muggle-borns to attend.

Andrea didn't know the names of any of the other magical schools in Europe. She knew there were a lot. But she didn't think any of them would have a different outlook at letting someone like her in.

She couldn't see her dad letting her go any farther than the continent for school.

Her mother would probably freak the fuck out if anyone even mentioned sending Andrea that far away within her considerable hearing range.

So she wouldn't get to go to wizarding school. There was no hope of it.

Her dad could home school her, between times while she helped him with the horses. But that was a bleak possibility to Andrea. There home was a lonely place, unplottable and hidden in the North Sea. Her and her father were the only sentient beings who lived there full time.

The only people who came to visit were her mother's flock and her father's relatives.

Other than that, the only things Andrea had to talk to were the horses. They were good listeners, but one-sided conversations got very boring and frustrating, very quickly.

Half of the reason she wanted to go away to school was so she could speak to someone she wasn't related to for once. Who would actually speak back to her. What she wanted more than anything, desperately wanted, was some friends.

A friend.

Just one friend.

She'd be happier than any other creature on earth if she had just one friend. Who didn't have four legs and hooves.

Because she was cripplingly lonely. Most days she ignored how miserable her isolation made her. But she wasn't always successful in doing so. some days she was overtaken by the feelings of misery and loneliness. Those days were indescribably terrible.

She couldn't bare living like it for the rest of her days until she was old enough to move away.

Her father was quite content with their quiet lives with little to no human contact. But Andrea wasn't. She craved company. So much so she was genuinely considering writing to every wizarding school on the planet to see if they would take her. She didn't care if she had to learn Japanese. Andrea just wanted to go.

But she was sure that would be the stupidest thing she could do. Hadn't her father always told her not to reveal her parentage to anyone she didn't absolutely have to? And she certainly didn't have to tell the headmasters of every magical school on the planet about it.

There was nothing she could do but wait and see if she received any letters.

However unlikely that was.

As her birthday drew closer and closer Andrew grew ever more upset. Though she tried very hard not to show it. But her father seemed to know how she was feeling anyway, despite her best efforts.

She became resigned to her fate of remaining on their little island for the foreseeable future. It didn't seem so bad, really. Not when their long winter had blossomed fully into spring. Their almost untouched island, green as the most precious of emeralds. Topped with diamond like spring snows here and there. With flowers and trees blooming everywhere you looked. It looked like paradise.

If paradise was wind-whipped and absolutely freezing all year round. Permanently above the snow line. Even in summer.

She grew to accept her reality when her birthday was less than a week away. She could wait until she was older to go out into the world. Most people would give all the galleons in their vaults to live in a place like she did.

Andrea would be grateful she would be allowed to buy a wand and learn magic at all. That she was considered a witch and not a magical beast. Or some sort of illegal breeding experiment and dragged away by some Unspeakables. Merlin knows what they'd do to her fit they had the chance.

She shuddered to think of it.

But she put those thoughts to one side forcefully. Instead she thought about the trip to Dublin she was going on with her father. Of all of the new and wonderful things she was going to get so she could do her classwork. The happy thoughts, once she focused on them, overpowered the despair she was feeling easily.

One way or another, she was going to learn magic.

* * *

 **A/N** \- In case anyone's wondering, I'm taking most of my info from the monster blog of monsters .tumblr .com and wand lore and more .tumblr .com. And I'll probably end up basing some things on the other associated blogs like the lethifold witch .tumblr .com and amortia fashion .tumblr .com. Honestly, they're the best Harry Potter headcanons I've ever come across and if you haven't perused them already, then I highly recommend you go and check them out. You'll be swallowed up into a wikipedia-esk link spiral.


	3. The Headmaster

**Chapter Two**

 **The Headmaster**

* * *

 **Summary:**

Whatever Andrea had been expecting, that most definitely, wasn't it.

* * *

When Andrea had spent all that time agonising over whether or not she was going to school, she didn't have all the facts. She didn't take something very important into account. She couldn't have. There was no way Andrea could have known. She was only a child.

Andrea had failed to consider Albus Dumbledore. The greatest sorcerer since Merlin himself. The headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He was brilliant. Undoubtedly so.

People said he was more than a little bit mad.

He was standing at Andrea's front door.

She gaped at him with undisguised astonishment. She had been extremely confused when someone had knocked on the door - no one ever knocked on their door. Anyone who ever came to visit just barged right in. But whatever she had expected when she swung the heavy wooden door open, that most definitely, wasn't it.

Without taking her eyes off the strange old man, with his silver hair and beard, and extravagant star patterned robes, Andrea let out a yell.

"DAD!"

Her reaction seemed to amuse Albus Dumbledore. Because his eyes twinkled, and his lips quirked upward. As if he was trying not to smile. His amusement grew as there was a loud clattering from the kitchen. And he waited patiently as the thumps of her father's footsteps approached them at a full out run.

"Andrea, lovie, what's wrong?" he gasped urgently as he came to a halt just behind her.

Andrea still didn't take her eyes off their gilded visitor. Letting someone that powerful out of your sight would be idiocy. Until she was sure he wasn't a threat.

She could do absolutely nothing if Albus bloody Dumbledore wanted to harm her or her father. But it was instinct that kept her gaze on him. Pure instinct. Which she was even more powerless to fight. So she continued to stare at him, and pointed at him in answer to her father's question.

He turned his worried gaze from Andrea's stiff form and directed it to the man standing in their doorway. When he took in the man who was standing before him, looking at him and his child with fond amusement, Adrien Moran was rendered speechless. That in itself was a rare occurrence.

It took him a while to remember the manners Andrea's grandmother has battered into him when he was her age. That she had failed to get into Andrea's head. When he did, he quickly slapped a hand down on Andrea's shoulder and steered her out of the doorway.

"Umm, come in, Dumbledore, why don't you?"

From the tone of his voice and the look he was sending Dumbledore, Andrea knew her father hadn't been expecting their visitor either. That didn't exactly help calm her risen hackles.

It also had the effect of setting alight her curiosity. If Dumbledore hadn't been invited to their island by her father, what was he doing there? How did he even know where to find them? Wasn't their island unplottable?

She regarded Dumbledore even more warily when that thought passed through her mind.

Dumbledore didn't seem to mind being regarded with such open confusion and wariness. Because he stepped over the threshold cheerfully. He swept off his scarlet travelling cloak and draped it on the hatstand to his left. He then smiled at the two Morans until her father once again remembered that people were supposed to speak to each other.

"Want to sit down Dumbledore? The sitting room's this way," he offered and steered Andrea toward the room in question, "I'll go make us some tea. Andrea, love, show Dumbledore into the sitting room."

With that, Adrien sprinted back into the kitchen to go about fixing them a pot of tea. Which meant Andrea was once again left alone with Albus Dumbledore. That her father seemed to trust the old man enough to do so calmed her quite a lot. But she still wasn't entirely comfortable exposing her back to him, like she would have to lead him though the house. It was a feeling she didn't know how to explain to someone so human. And it left her at a loss for what to do or say to the man who was looking kindly down at her through a pair of half-moon shaped glasses.

Unlike her, Dumbledore seemed to know exactly what to do. As though he chatted with harpies all the time.

"Through here, I believe," he said, pointing a long hand in the direction of the sitting room.

When Andrea nodded in confirmation he walked on ahead of her. Through the coat room. Down the main hallway. He then turned to look back at Andrea, who was following him and still feeling bewildered. She pointed to the closest door on the right and nodded.

When he quietly opened the door and walked into the sitting room he let out a happy sigh. He strode over to the fire and warmed his hands.

"Lovely and cosy in here, isn't it?" he commented as the heat of the roaring fire washed over them both, "But I fear, by your surprise, Catherine failed to let you know I would be dropping by."

"You know Aunt Cat?" Andrea asked before she could help herself.

"I do. I was headmaster of Hogwarts while she was there. Yes, I really amthat old," he replied jokingly.

If he was headmaster when Aunt Cat was at Hogwarts, he really was old. Aunt Cat was eighty-seven. Still wrangling dragons in Romania, mind you.

Wouldn't get on the wrong side of her, not unless you wanted to lose a limb or two.

That she remained on speaking terms with an old teacher was a little out of character. At least, Andrea had thought it would have been. Evidently, she had been mistaken.

"Was she supposed to tell us?" Andrea asked, since Dumbledore didn't seem to mind her asking questions.

Besides, the silence between them was growing awkward. And judging by the clatters and bangs she could hear coming from the kitchen her father wouldn't be joining them all too soon. Trying to make dinner and tea at the same time wasn't going very well at all.

"Oh, no, I merely expected that she would. Catherine has never been the type to remain silent when she feels it matters," Dumbledore told her cheerily.

This, at least, tallied with what Andrea knew of her Great Aunt.

"Okay, that makes sense," she allowed, and settled herself into her favourite armchair. This brought her much closer to the headmaster than she had been. Because her favourite chair was so very close to the fire that anyone trying to Floo in would trip over it once they stepped out of the fireplace.

Dumbledore took that to be the peace offering that it was. He inclined his head at her ever so slightly. Then took a seat on the nearby loveseat. He continued to smile at her like an indulgent uncle. A look which she was very familiar with. She had many uncles. All of whom treated her with a degree of unsure indulgence.

Accepting thought they may have been, but that didn't mean they knew all the much about harpies. Or what adolescent harpies normally did. Or how they were supposed to act in comparison to ordinary children.

Andrea may or may not have taken advantage of that from time to time.

But she had a feeling Dumbledore was quite a bit more knowledgeable in that regard, somehow.

"I'm surprised, Andrea, that you haven't asked me why I'm here. Catherine told me at length about your lively curious mind," Dumbledore said to her in a strangely neutral tone. Andrea was surprised that he spoke and didn't answer for a minute.

"You're here to see Dad 'bout something," she replied with a shrug, "Adults always tell me I'm too young whenever they want to say anything important."

"I see," Dumbledore replied, then asked again, "And what about your curiosity as to how I came to be here?"

She wondered how Dumbledore knew she had been thinking about that when he arrived. Though, she supposed, it was a bit of an obvious question.

"You said Aunt Cat knew you were coming. She told you how to find the island, didn't she?" Andrea reasoned.

She blinked innocently at Dumbledore. He seemed to be very pleased indeed. But Andrea hadn't a single clue why he was so happy.

People did say he was a little bit barmy.

"That armchair is your favourite, am I correct?" he continued to question her with an intense look in his eyes.

"Yeah," she answered, becoming wary of him once again. She didn't know where he was going with that line of conversation. But she didn't like it.

Nor did she like the knowing look playing about his features. Or the way he glanced from her to the dancing flames. The flames she could see things in, but Dumbledore most probably couldn't. She didn't like it at all. In fact, she felt for the first time in her life that she wanted to move away from the fire, and ignore the tantalising stories it played out before her eyes.

Andrea didn't know if that counted as illegal underage magic. It's not like she could stop seeing things. But, like her parentage, it wasn't something any old person needed to know about.

"What, may I ask, do you find so interesting in the fire?" he asked in an innocently curious way, and seeing her sudden alarm, raised his hand in a soothing manner, "I am not the Ministry, dear girl, I am merely curious."

"Nothing good, at the minute," she replied, hoping that was enough to satisfy him, she doubted it would be, though.

He raised his eyebrows at her. Andrea looked away from him and into the fire.

"A Grim. A good man. And a terrible thing, less than human, waiting for something," she said at last, not liking that she's said any of it out loud. It made it feel more real, now that she had.

"I'm sorry to hear that, though it's not entirely unexpected," he sighed looking sad for a brief moment. Just as quickly, the mood passed, and he returned to his jovial mood.

"Alas, that is not what I came here to discuss," he proclaimed just as her father entered the room laden down with a tea tray, "And I had a job finding here, even with Catherine's instructions. You've done a very good job with it."

"Thanks, Dumbledore," Adrien said as he doled out tea to each of them, "Want to stay for supper? It's almost ready."

"That would be lovely, Adrien," Dumbledore replied delightedly.

"Great, so what did you want to talk about that you couldn't do by owl?"

"I am here to discuss your daughter," he said more seriously.

"Why?" he asked with a slight amount of alarm. "There's nothing wrong with Andrea, and she's never done anything wrong."

"He knows, Da," Andrea murmured form where she was curled up in her chair.

Her father whipped around to look from Andrea to Dumbledore. He nearly flung his mug across the room, he began gesturing that wildly in his surprise. He began stuttering out something, but was halted by Dumbledore, just as Andrea had been a moment earlier.

"But first, I should give you this," Dumbledore proclaimed, and plunged a hand into his robes. Seconds later, he produced a letter, addressed in bright green ink. He held it out to Andrea, who just looked at it in confusion.

After a moment, she reached out and took it. She read the emerald ink on the front. It was addressed to her.

Andrea Celestia Moran,

The Blue Room,

Celeste House,

Celeste Horse Ranch,

Bóruma Island,

Donegal,

Ireland.

Andrea thought it was a little unnecessarily detailed in its direction. What use would it be for an owl to know what room she slept in? How did they even know that? Why did they bother with the address when Dumbledore was going to bring it with him?

"You may open it, if you like," Dumbledore prompted her quietly.

She did as he suggested, and ripped open the envelope in a flurry. When she got to the letter she didn't hesitate to flip it open and read it. But when her eyes passed over the first sentence she was too stunned to carry on.

Dear Ms. Moran,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

She tore her gaze away from the sheet of parchment immediately and shot a sharp look at Dumbledore. She couldn't believe it. It couldn't be true, could it? If it was some sort of joke, it was an incredibly cruel one.

"This isn't, is it?" she asked weakly, hardly able to get the words out through her inexplicably tight throat.

"It is," Dumbledore confirmed.

Unable to do anything else, Andrea slapped a hand over her mouth and let out a muffled sob. Tears began to spill out of her eyes uncontrollably.

Never in her life could Andrea remember being so overwhelmed with pure, undiluted, iridescent happiness.


	4. The Oddest Supper

**Chapter Three**

 **The Oddest Supper**

* * *

 **Summary:**

Andrea had never been so happy. Nor had she ever sat through a dinner quite so strange.

* * *

Never had Andrea ever been so happy. Nor had she ever sat through a dinner quite so strange. Which was really saying something, given the many eccentricities found among her family and their close acquaintances. She'd been privy to some really weird dinner conversations. But that evening really took the biscuit.

Her father tried to keep up a stream of pleasantries. But he kept breaking down into joyous tears, or bursting out into gales of disbelieving laughter, part way through his sentences.

Andrea had never in her life seen him so overtaken by emotion. She doubted anyone else ever had either. It was disconcerting, to put it mildly.

When he had taken the acceptance letter from her trembling fingers he had broken down completely. It was more than a bit out of character for Adrien to be so affected. And Andrea didn't know how to react to that.

She was having enough trouble processing the news herself, without having to navigate his reaction as well.

Dumbledore, ever at his ease, seemed not to be affected by Adrien's difficulties in the slightest. In fact, he appeared to be quite delighted at the reception his offer received from the Morans. If the surprised amusement in his expression was any indication, it was quite a bit more intense than he had been hoping for.

Aside from that little hint of gratification, he simply replied to her father's inquiries cheerfully, and posited some questions of his own. Mainly in regards to their ranch. He was particularly interested in their Abaths, and the Thestral she and her father had nursed back to health after it suffered a broken wing. The beast, unusually for an omen horse, had taken to the other horses as its heard. Thus, refused to leave to return to its own kind.

Andrea could admit, they were a pair of very interesting circumstances.

Particularly considering the only other domesticated Thestrals were raised by the Hogwarts gamekeeper. They were the jewel in the school's crown. So it made sense that Dumbledore would be interested in the only other domesticated Thestral on record. That it decided to house train itself, as it were, only made the creature more interesting. It revealed a streak of independence and a higher level of thought than anyone thought Thestrals possessed.

Eve so, it was a little unsettling to witness the exchange. Andrea just didn't know what to do with herself.

The fact that she was still in shock wasn't helping matters. She could barely speak at all. When any of the conversation was aimed at her, she couldn't force any words from her mouth. All she could do was nod or shake her head at them.

As the meal drew on, more and more of the conversation was directed at her. She was a subject that Dumbledore also appeared to be very interested in. Aunt cat had indeed told him a lot about her, in her determination to convince him that Hogwarts should take her in as a student.

He knew so much about her that Andrea was shocked. She hadn't thought Aunt Cat herself knew that much about her talents and interests. The formidable woman wasn't exactly known for her interest in the banality of other people's day to day concerns.

Andrea hadn't thought she'd paid that much attention to her, really.

It was a gratifying surprise.

Aunt Cat didn't waste her time on anyone or anything she didn't think was worth it. And it was a widely known fact that she only thought the best was worth her time. Just ask Andrea's cousin Marcus. He was a waster to the core, and Aunt Cat openly spurned his near constant attempts to get on her good side.

Andrea didn't blame her.

Marcus was a prick.

Dumbledore, on the other hand, was the epitome of pleasant. He appeared to be impressed by her interest in alchemy. It was a subject that finally managed to loosen Andrea's tongue. The opportunity to question one of the most brilliant alchemists of their time about their work wasn't something to be taken for granted.

And he seemed amused by the determination of her desire to become a curse breaker. In his own words,

"One does not meet many young people so fixed on their future."

Hr even gave her advice regarding the subjects would require to succeed in her ambitions. And encouraged her to keep her options open to alchemy as a career.

"Though I am somewhat biased toward the profession, it is very fulfilling. I wouldn't rule it out, my dear girl."

It was a rather strange conversation. Andrea wasn't used to speaking with adults on that level. At least, not with someone who took her seriously. Which Dumbledore seemed to, for some reason. Andrea couldn't pinpoint why he was so sincere with her in regards to her ambitions and potential careers.

She was much more used to facing amusement and exasperation fro her elders. To speaking with adults who were merely humouring her. But who actually thought she hadn't a clue what she was talking about. And who believed the next time they saw her she'd be harping on about becoming a dragonologist, like Aunt Cat. Or some other glamorous, dangerous profession which she would also soon lose interest in.

Talking with them was unbelievably frustrating. Because no matter what she said, they were firm in their belief that she was just fantasising without any real commitment to the idea. Her conversation with Dumbledore over dinner was enlightening. Not to mind uplifting. Confidence inspiring, too.

But you know what they say about gift horses.

Andrea didn't press him for explanations.

She hadn't expected to be so well received by a wizard who wasn't a family member, or a friend so close they may as well have been. Andrea had grown up with the knowledge that most of the wizarding world would consider her an abomination. This man, this strange, flamboyant, and brilliant man, didn't seem to think she was.

That threw her for a loop.

More importantly, it gave her hope.

Not every wizard thought she shouldn't exist. And one of them was the headmaster of the school that she had a place in. Surely his view would have some impact on the other students? It wasn't unreasonable to think so.

She might just be able to make a friend at Hogwarts.

Her heart soared at the possibility. And it made her even more grateful to Dumbledore, if that was even possible. She would have sold her soul, traded her first born, and burned the world to ash for the chance he'd given her. Andrea didn't know how she would even begin to repay him for that.


	5. An Tóchar Cathbad

**Chapter Four**

 **An Tóchar Cathbad**

* * *

 **Summary:**

Andrea's father takes her to Dublin to get all of her school things, but their day in the city takes a rather unexpected turn.

* * *

Andrea had been to Dublin only once before, with her Uncle Ryan. That day, though, they remained largely within the muggle areas of the city. It had been fun, taking tour busses around all the sights. All the while her uncle told her about the magical history behind all of them, on top of the muggle's versions of events.

Ryan Moran was an expert on magical and muggle history alike. He was a wealth of information. And he had a particular knack for storytelling, so Andrea was always happy to listen to him.

This trip was, Andrea knew, going to be very different. She didn't need to look to the future to know that. Because Andrea knew her father. He would never let her run as rampant as her uncle Ryan did. Frankly, no remotely sensible adult would let her get away with even half so much as Uncle Ryan did. Andrea didn't know why her father spend so much time alone with him. But she wasn't about to start questioning it.

You know what they say about gift horses, after all.

Andrea knew better than to make her father rethink his decisions when she had a good thing going on. It was a sure fire way to end all fun for the foreseeable future. And she could foresee a hell of a way into the future.

By the time they'd arrived on the mainland Andrea's instincts had proven correct. Her father was incredibly antsy. He was humming along to the radio more loudly than usual. He kept taking his eyes off the road to shoot her weary glances. And tapping his fingers against the steering wheel of their ancient old Citroen van, with its weirdly discoloured silver paint. She didn't know what could have possibly happened to the thing. And to be perfectly honest, she didn't want to know.

But this was behaviour he father always exhibited whenever the prospect of bringing Andrea into public cropped up. Young though she was, Andrea was used to it.

Her Uncle Ryan and Aunt May liked to say her father was neurotic. They weren't exactly wrong. But Andrea couldn't find it in her to be bothered by his occasional flights of lunacy. As his siblings liked to call his anxieties.

Andrea preferred to think of him as a kindred spirit to Mrs. Bennet from Pride and Prejudice in moments like that. What with her 'poor nerves' and all. She thought it was a hilarious likeness. Andrea's extended family agreed with her. They thought it was very clever. Her father, on the other hand, was a lot less amused by the comparison.

She knew the world could be a dangerous place. She saw terrible things every day. More often than not, there was nothing she could do about any of it. That created a sense of existential dread that rarely left her be. Her father's actions, worrying about her, keeping an eye on her, his attempts to keep her from harm's way, all of it made her feel safe. Secure. Which was something very few people of things could come close to achieving.

So, Andrea didn't complain about his ever-vigilant eye being constantly aimed in her direction.

Unlike most of their outings, Adrien had relaxed quite a lot by the time they reached county Dublin. It was a pleasant surprise. But it only lasted until they reached the shambles of construction work and maze of half finished roads that was the M50. Then it all went completely tits up.

Trying to navigate that shit show turned both of them into howling neurotic versions of themselves. It was an experience Andrea never wanted to repeat.

Honestly, it was the absolute worst of any and all imaginable nightmares.

But, in the end, it was worth it.

Because Andrea loved the bustle of the city. Even if it was horrendous to try and drive around. And had no signposts. Making it nearly impossible to navigate.

She loved that at one minute you could be in the most cosmopolitan of places, overflowing with wealth, culture and history. Then almost as if within the next breath you could be standing in what almost looked like a village, or a small town. Equally as interesting, but polar opposites at first glance.

The destination of Andrea and her father could be found in a place much like the latter. It looked like a quaint little place. With modest, but pretty, housing estates, a park, a post office, along with a few grocers and boutiques. With a few pubs thrown in for good measure. A lovely place. But one of little to no consequences to those who didn't live there. There was only one thing about the area that wasn't perfectly ordinary.

This one abnormal thing came in the form of an ancient landmark. An old building that had once been a bank. By the nineties, however, it had been converted into a museum. To most, that's all it was. An old building filled with even older things.

To wizard kind, however, the area and the museum were for more significant.

Andrea and her father travelled up the steps, and though the grand door with the small crowd of tourists milling about. But they parted ways with them as they passed through a side door labelled as 'Employees Only'.

Through that door was an empty cupboard. Large enough to git five people, at the very most. But Andrea and her father were able to fit quite comfortably.

Adrien faced the back wall of the cupboard and raised a fist. Then he knocked on the stone in the exact centre of that wall. In the rhythm of the first line of the Irish Rover. Once he was finished a new door appeared. Far more ornate than the one which led to the cupboard. It took up most of the wall. And it looked like something that belonged in a castle, rather than in a museum, not to mind in a cupboard.

The sight of it was a surprise to Andrea, who had never seen it before. To Adrien, though, it was completely expected.

He reached out and pulled the gargantuan door toward them to reveal an extraordinary sight. Through the doorway was an entire street. Just as busy and bustling as the city outside. But the people who crowded the street before Andrea's eyes were far more unusual than those striding along the muggle streets beyond the museum.

They were all clad in robes and pointed hats and all kinds of strange assortments of attire that went hand in hand with wizards trying to pass as muggles. One particularly notable example was an old man strutting around in a nightdress and a biker jacket. Instead of record stores and shoe shops the buildings were occupied by apothecaries and broom shops.

Through the door was a place known as an Tóchar Cathbad.

A village that had been absorbed into the metropolis of the capital a long time ago. Despite this, it remained a hub of magical activity. It was the best place on the Island of Ireland to buy supplies necessary for magic and the life of a witch or wizard. Whatever you wanted, from beetles' eyes and cauldrons, to trained post owls, to magic wands. All kinds of strange and obscure magical odds and ends. Anything needed by a witch or wizard of any proclivity could be bought in Tóchar Cathbad.

It was too much for Andrea to take in. Though she damn well tried.

The Morans didn't dawdle. They stepped over the threshold and Adrien quickly hauled the door shut after them. Then he busted Andrea off down the street. She followed, despite how much she wanted to hang around and stare about at all the strange and wonderful new sights surrounding her.

Before they could get her school things, Adrien had business to take care of. Supplies to buy. People to haggle with. Sales to arrange. Boring adult stuff. Though all of it was almost incorrigibly dull, Andrea bore with it, because she knew it would be worth the wait.

Even if she was left to wait with a half deaf old friend of her father's, who was called 'Tick Tock' for some reason, while Adrien made a trip back to the muggle street where their van was parked. He had to drop off the mountain of supplies he'd come to Dublin for. It was a better option than carting the lot of it around for the rest of the day, Andrea knew. But it was hard to remind herself of that when she was faced with the sheer weirdness that was Christie Tick Tock.

If she'd thought Dumbledore was weird. Well. He had nothing on old Christie.

He was probably a good fifty years younger than Tick Tock, too, if Andrea had to guess. How someone could live to be that old, Andrea couldn't even fathom. And he owned what was possibly the strangest shop in Tóchar Cathbad. Full of things Andrea couldn't put a name to no matter how much she stared at them.

He wasn't a bad guy, though, Andrea discovered quickly.

In fact, Christie was incredibly interesting. Even if he believed the Deathly Hallows were real when everyone knew they were real when everyone knew they were just part of an old children's story. Still, the stories he told her about the Peverell brothers, who he told her were the real owners of the Hallows, were brilliant.

He even wore an amulet around is neck. A triangle with a circle in the middle and a line through it. He said all believers in the Hallows wore them.

Triangle for the Cloak of Invisibility.

Circle for the Resurrection Stone.

Line for the Elder Wand.

There were several others just like it on display in various places around the shop. Some with stones. Some plain metal. They were official the one and only thing in the building Andrea could identify. He took a break in his stories of the history of the Elder Wand - brutal and bloody and positively enrapturing - to peruse them. After a moment, he plucked one of them up and examined it more clearly.

"Hmm... yes, perfect," he muttered to himself, then turned back to her and held it out with a crooked smile that showed off the three gold teeth he possessed, "A gift, little one. I only ask you not show it to your father."

Andrea took the offered gift with an answering smile. A jolt of excitement ran through her at the idea of doing something, even something so small as accepting a gift, so slyly.

That taken care of, Christie continued on, exactly where he left off. Andrea continued to listen, just as captivated with his tales of extraordinarily powerful weapons and brutal murders to take possession of it. It was a nice way to spend the afternoon. Andrea found herself wishing that her father had left her in the shop of oddities run by an even odder oddity earlier, and taken care of his business alone.

She liked Christie Tick Tock. So much so that she was a little disappointed when her father returned to collect her.

"Bye Mr. Christie," she bade hi goodbye morosely, and gave him a little wave, as her father laid a hand on her shoulder to guide her through the maze of curiosities that made up Christie's shop.

"I'll see you, little dove," he replied kindly, "Anytime you need me, Adrien."

"Thanks Tick Tock," Adrien called over his shoulder as they left, "Don't worry, I'll keep what you said in mind."

Once they left Tick Tock's shop, they headed to the bookstore. Read A Damned Book was a terrible name for a shop, but it had been around for seven centuries, so changing the name wasn't an option. Name aside, it was a wonderful place. A massive Victorian building, with high ceilings and a fresco behind the counter.

Every other inch of the wall space, floor to ceiling, was taken over by shelves. Those shelves were overflowing with books of all shapes and sizes. The floor space was similarly overtaken by floor to ceiling shelves. They created a spectacular labyrinth where one was completely submerged in an incalculable number of books. A mix of new, second hand, and rare, much older volumes. Organised without any rhyme or reason that Andrea could discern.

Getting lost in there would be the most pleasant of misadventures, Andrea was certain.

But she wasn't allowed to do so that afternoon. Her father knew her too well to let her attempt to wander off. Additionally, he had been in the shop many times before, and knew the most efficient way to the counter. So Andrea wasn't afforded the time to get distracted.

"How's it goin'?" her father greeted the young witch behind the high counter as they arrived in the clearing around the cash desk.

She looked up from the small orange book she was reading and gave them the forced smile of anyone worked in sales.

"How can I help?" she asked in return as she marked her place and set the book down.

"My wee one's off to Hogwarts this year," he said, turned to Andrea, beaming with pride, "Could you help us find what she needs?"

"Sure thing," she said, a hint of relief in her voice, though Andrea wouldn't say why. She leaned over the counter and smiled down at her, a much more genuine expression, "You got your list, pet?"

Andrea nodded and fished her Hogwarts letter from her pocket. she handed it over and the young witch flipped through until she found the book list. She looked over it quickly and nodded to herself.

"I can get yous all this in a jiff," she told them, and waved them on to follow her, which they did, and three of them set off into the labyrinth once again.

The young witch walked with purpose through the stacks. She didn't stop to check the titles. Which made it clear how confident she was that she knew exactly where everything was. Even though there were no signs anywhere to label the sections. There were no displays to give any hints either.

She abruptly stopped and plucked a heavy book bound in black letter, "A History of Magic, Bathilda Bagshot," she announced and held it out to Adrien, who took it with a quick thank you.

She then whirled around and hopped onto a ladder attached to the opposite shelves. She climbed up about half way and retrieved a much smaller, acid green tome. She descended quickly and easily to hand her father the second book, "Magical Theory, Albert Waffling."

The young woman was just as efficient in her search for 'The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1', Miranda Goshawk, 'A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration', Emeric Switch, 'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi', Phyllidia Spore, "Magical Drafts and Potions', Arsenious Jigger, 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them', Newt Scamander, and 'The Dark Forces, a Guide to Self-Protection', Quentin Trimble. When she was done, Andrea and her father were both clutching a pile of books.

Adrien turned to head back to the counter, but Andrea was determined not to let him forget the promise he made to her almost a month ago.

"Dad, you said I could get something with my pocket money when we were here," she reminded him, just loudly enough that the witch helping them could overhear.

Adrien looked down at the pile of heavy books he was already carrying, sighed, then nodded.

"I did promise," he agreed, "What d'you want?"

Andrea beamed.

The witch let out a quiet chuckle from behind them.

Andrea left Read A Damned Book not only with her schoolbooks, but with five additional books the young witch, Maura, helped her pick out. 'Practical Defensive Magic', 'Beginner's Guide to Alchemy', 'Important Advances in Alchemy', 'Pride and Prejudice', and 'Pollyanna'. She was very pleased with herself. Her father, slightly less so. He levitated the books as they left the store rather than trying to lift them all into his arms.

A tactic which he continued to use as they visited Graftons' Apothocary, O'Carrol's Stationary and Quills, and Call us Cauldrons.

They didn't run into anything remotely interesting until they entered Connelly's (Makers of Fine Robes, est. 573 B.C.). When they stepped through the door they saw the shop was packed to bursting with people. Harried seamstresses rushed from customer to customer. Some wearing finished garments, some in fabric pinned together with chalk lines all over it in patterns Andrea didn't really understand the significance of.

One of the customers being fitted made Andrea's father incredibly uncomfortable for some reason. He caught sight of the hulk of a man - seriously? Did he have giant's blood or something? Andrea wasn't easily intimidated, but that behemoth of a man was enough to do the trick - and almost immediately walked into a mannequin. It was an uncharacteristic bout of clumsiness. Adrien was almost always sure footed.

The man turned around at the sound of the commotion. As did everyone else in the store. While there was nothing but confusion on the faces of the customers and the seamstresses, the man who spooked her father wore a large grin. He stepped down from the pedestal he was perched on for his fitting, slipping through the grasp of a rather annoyed looked seamstress, and held his arms out wide as he approached Andrea's father with a spring in his step and laughter shining in his dark eyes.

"Adrien," he boomed in a warm, husky voice and grabbed her father in a crushing hug, "How good to see you again! It's been far too long!"

Andrea sent her father a questioning look.

She didn't know the huge, jovial man. She knew all of her father's friends. Or, she thought she did. Because the strange man and her father definitely knew each other. They were obviously friendly, if the way the man embraced Adrien was anything to go by.

Who, by Merlin's saggy bingo wings, was he?


	6. Francis Clarke

**Chapter Five**

 **Francis Clarke**

* * *

 **Summary:**

Andrea discovers the identity of her father's strange friend, and she doesn't even need Merlin's bingo wings to do it.

* * *

Andrea continued to watch in pure and utter confusion as her father and the enormous stranger continued with their verbose, and very enthusiastic, greeting. Some of the other customers sent her a few questioning looks, obviously under the mistaken impression that Andrea had any idea what was going on. They had no idea just how wrong they were. Andrea was just as at a loss to explain what they were witnessing as they were.

She ignored them, in favour of trying to communicate to her father through frowning and glares that she wasn't entirely happy about being left in the dark.

It didn't work.

They continued to laugh and catch up for several minutes before her father turned to her. Long enough for the other patrons and employees of Connelly's to lose interest and go back to their own fittings.

The seamstress that had been dealing with the large man, however, continued to hover. Wand and needle still in each hand. Trying to scowl the man into getting back onto his podium.

She didn't have any more telepathic success than Andrea did.

But an explanation did, eventually, come.

"Love, this's my old friend, Frank. He's been off gallivanting 'round the world the last while. He's just opened up a new branch of Ollivander's here in Dublin."

He was a wandmaker.

That was a little strange to Andrea. And it certainly wasn't what she'd expected to learn about him. Just looking at the man, she would've pegged him as an Auror, or a tamer of wild beasts, or a duellist. There was something a little wild, and a bit dangerous, about him. Something so quiet and contemplative as wandmaking didn't seem like the kind of career that would've been his first choice of profession.

While Andrea wasn't usually wrong about that sort of thing, there was a first time for everything.

And it did make sense. Sort of.

Adrien worked with quite a few wandmakers, Garrick Ollivander chief among them. He sold them all sorts of wand cores, mainly unicorn hair. Although a few were interested in using the hair and feathers shed by some of their other equine charges. It made perfect sense that he'd know the man responsible for opening a new wand shop in Dublin. Especially if he was in business with the famous Ollivander.

But that explanation didn't account for how enthusiastically they greeted each other. Her father said 'Frank' was an old friend. That didn't sit so well with Andrea either. She knew, or had at the very least heard of, just about every single one of her father's old friends. Either from the man himself, or from one of their endless supply of family members.

It was strange that she hadn't heard of anyone named Frank before then.

"Yeah, just a few doors down, actually," he said to them both in a strong Kerry accent, and pointed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his new enterprise, "I'm glad to see you, and your wee one. Haven't seen you since you were a baby, Andrea. Small enough to fit in one hand, almost."

"Nice to meet you," Andrea replied, politely, though she was still a bit perturbed by the man.

They were interrupted from their introductions by a pointed cough from the increasingly impatient, beginning to border on belligerent, seamstress who was still hovering gloweringly around Frank. When they turned back in her direction, both men seeming surprised she was still there, she brandished her needle and pincushion at them emphatically, and gestured toward the podium Frank had previously inhabited.

"Mr. Clarke, if you would like to return to your fitting," she suggested in a way that implied Frank didn't have any choice in the matter. Though Andrea was curious to know exactly what the little old witch was planning to do if Frank, behemoth that he was, resisted, "We don't have time to dawdle much longer if you want your robes to be ready in time for the banquet."

"Oh, of course, Mrs. Connelly," Frank apologised, sincerely as far as Andrea could see, and immediately moved back to take his place on the podium, "Got distracted, old friends, you know how that can be."

Mrs. Connelly couldn't seem to resist the charm of Frank Clarke. The smile that exposed his bright white teeth, and his handsome face won her over in less than a minute. And the grumpy look the interruption of her work caused was gone just like that. Replaced with a rather indulgent smile that seemed rather odd for the woman to be wearing.

Andrea had a feeling Frank Clarke had a similar effect on most people. He was just too cheerful to stay irritated with for long.

As she returned to pinning and adjusting the fabulous bright green and turquoise robes, which contrasted brilliantly with his dark skin, for Frank Clarke, she turned an eye to Andrea and her father. Who had been beckoned to follow the seamstress and her customer by Mr. Clarke.

"Adrien," she greeted in slightly better humour than she had appeared to be at their first entering the shop, "Good to see you. School robes, I assume?"

"Yeah, Mrs. Connelly," he replied with a smile, proudly patting Andrea on the shoulder, "She's starting this September?"

"Maeve's Academy or Hogwarts?"

"Hogwarts," it was Andrea who spoke up this time, still clutching her Hogwarts letter and her new copy of Pollyanna.

"A good choice, child," Mrs. Connelly commented as she continued to work, "I know Dumbledore well. He's a great wizard, none better to learn from. And he's got a real good staff there a t the moment. Much better than that cow running Maeve's now. She's a bitter old bigot, and the school'll be a lot better off when she retires.'

That speech gave Andrea a lot of new information to process. She was well aware of Professor O'Mahoney's views. She'd heard her family complain about the woman too many times to count. Not to mind, they'd all refused to send any of Andrea's cousins to Maeve's Academy until she retired. That the woman thought any and all people like Andrea deserved to be rounded up and put to death by the Ministry like diseased cattle wasn't news to her.

What was news to Andrea, however, was that her family weren't the only people to think of Professor O'Mahoney like that. Her family was strange. Both in the opinion of the wider wizarding community, and by their own admission. They were a lot less afraid of the unknown than the average citizen of the wizarding world.

She hadn't been prepared to learn that their opinion of the professor was shared by ordinary witches and wizards.

Maybe there was hope for Andrea after all.

"Thanks," Andrea replied tentatively, "I met professor Dumbledore a while ago. I really liked him."

Mrs. Connelly laughed. She shook her head and turned to smile at Andrea's father.

"She's got good instincts, your girl," she said to him, "Looks like you're raising her right."

"Would you expect anything else from Adrien's girl? She's a Moran, after all," Frank commented with a booming laugh, "Sharp as hippogriff claws, the lot of them."

Mrs. Connelly laughed again, "Isn't that the truth."

"Thank you, Mrs. Connelly," Adrien accepted the praise bashfully, but was obviously pleased that the woman liked his daughter, "If it's too busy to fit us in now we can come back later. We don't want to be bothering you."

"Don't be silly, child," she scolded good naturedly, "We can have a few sets of Hogwarts robes whipped up in a few minutes. I'll be thankful for the break, really. Much easier work than all the dress robe orders we've been drowning in the last week."

"Well I'm terribly sorry to be such a burden," Frank said with a heavy amount of sarcasm colouring his tone.

Mrs. Connelly swatted him on the arm and told him to shut his cheeky mouth unless he wanted to spend the next few minutes being stabbed by pins. He did the smart thing and shut the hell up.

"I'll squeeze you in when I'm done with Frankie here. You'll be in and out in no time," she assured them confidently, and turned to call out some instructions to one of her employees, "Katie, when you're done with Mrs. Young get me some of the Hogwarts material, will you?"

"'Course Ma'am," a young witch, who was apparently named Katie, acquiesced to her boss's command as she helped an older woman remove a set of nearly finished, beautiful royal blue dress robes.

"You don't have to rush with little Andrea's robes, Mrs. Connelly," Frank informed her, breaking his silence, too cheerful and chatty to keep quiet any longer, "Andrea's still to get her wand. The Morans can come along to the shop once she's been fitted, and come back to collect them when we're all settled up with that."

"Oh, that sounds like a good idea," Mrs. Connelly agreed, "If Adrien and his girl don't have other things to be doing in the meantime."

"No, not at all," Adrien assured them both, "That sounds like a plan. Doesn't it love?"

"Sure," Andrea agreed without a second's hesitation.

She had been looking forward to getting a wand for years. It was the most exciting part about getting her school supplies by about three million miles. Give or take a few hundred miles. She could do some things wandlessly, but it was difficult. And she knew that when people like her favoured wandless magic, it was seen as barbaric.

But if some stodgy old pureblood used wandless magic, they were a genius, or a prodigy, or some shit. Double fucking standards, right?

Besides, wands had always fascinated her. She had no idea how something so apparently simple, just a strip of wood and a feather, or a hair, or something similar, could create some of the most magically powerful objects in the world. It was just so cool.

And all grown-ups had wands. Getting to have one was like wearing a big old flashing sign saying she wasn't just a little kid anymore. She was almost an adult. Well, she had a hell of a ways to go. But still! Being old enough to have a wand had to count for something. Right?

Either way, Andrea was getting a wand. And she was way too excited to even care about containing herself.


	7. Feather and Bone

**Chapter Six**

 **Feather and Bone**

* * *

 **Summary:**

Andrea is finally getting her own wand, and she couldn't possibly be more excited. Even if the whole industry of wandmaking was more than a little confusing. And the excitement and confusion lend themselves to a very strange experience indeed.

* * *

Mrs. Connelly had been correct in her estimation that Andrea would be fitted and sent on her way in only a few minutes. The woman was scarily efficient. This was especially so when she was whipping around large, very sharp, scissors and a lot of needles very close to one's face.

It was all Andrea could do not to give a violent flinch whenever one of the aforementioned objects came anywhere near her eyes. It was only the certainty that moving would definitely cause an unfortunate accident that kept her still.

And yes, there were a few close calls.

Andrea would rather not think about it.

But, as Mrs. Connelly predicted, Andrea didn't have to put up with it for long. She was slipping out of the crudely tacked together robes and being ushered out of the store with her two chaperones within five minutes. Who were still nattering on like a couple of gossiping old ladies. It was pretty amusing to watch. Like one of the Muggle soap operas her Uncle Howie was so utterly obsessed with.

Andrea finally began to understand their appeal.

Her spirits lifted as they walked the short distance to Frank's new shop. The prospect of a much more pleasant shopping experience at the brand spanking new location of Ollivander's made the terror of a set of tailor's sheers nearly piercing her in the eye fade completely into the background.

So, the short time later when they arrived at the freshly painted, soft green, store front Andrea was positively delighted once again. She was about to get a _wand_. A real magic wand of her very own. One she could use to practice magic whenever she wanted. No longer would she have to steal, beg, and borrow the wands of her older relatives. Andrea couldn't contain her excitement. She positively bounced into the shop.

It was much quieter in the wand shop than it'd been in the seamstress's. It was neat and tidy. A lot smaller than the other shops she'd been in. But she could see, through an open door behind the counter, what looked like a large workshop.

The front, like she said, was small. And had almost as many shelves as Read a Damned Book. They weren't full like the bookshop's were. Those shelves had been overflowing and straining under the weight they were carrying. The shelves here were half empty. Obviously, they had been fitted preemptively. And were now sitting empty, waiting for more wands to be made in the back room.

Andrea moved toward the stacks of wand boxes on the shelves. She caught a quick glance at the box labels, lengths and cores and woods, before her father steered her away from them with a hand on her shoulder. Andrea looked at him in confusion. Wasn't the whole point of them being here to get a _wand_?

Her father didn't reply. He just smiled at her and led her over to the long counter.

She followed him impatiently. Wanting to get whatever stupid adult stuff they wanted her for done already. She wasn't interested in anything like that. All she wanted was to get her wand.

But it turned out they didn't want her to do any boring grown up nonsense. When she peeked over the counter top, Frank produced four wand boxes. Just like those that were beginning to line the walls.

Why they weren't on the shelves with the others, Andrea couldn't say.

What she could say, when Frank opened their lids, was that they were beautiful. Each of them were elegant, in their own way. One very simple, another ornately designed, one bearing ogham symbols, and another with what looked like ivory inlaid in the handle.

She looked from the wands, to Frank, to her father. She was, once again, confused by them. Andrea didn't know what they expected her to do. So she relaxed back onto her heels and crossed her arms. Waiting for them to explain themselves. Again.

Arseholes.

It only took them a few seconds to explain what was going on. This time.

"Frank was excited to meet you," her father said, looking a little embarrassed, "He made a few wands he thought would suit you. He thought it'd be best to start with them."

"Alright," Andrea said uncertainly, standing on tip toe again to take another look at the wands on the counter.

They weren't any less beautiful on second glance. But she didn't really understand why a wandmaker - who had to run a profitable business - would go to such trouble. Making four custom wands for an eleven year old, ones that mightn't even choose her, couldn't've been a good business strategy. Wands were expensive to make.

At least, Andrea was fairly certain they were. She'd seen her father's books. Wand cores alone cost a pretty penny.

Selling them to men like Mr. Ollivander, and Mr. Clarke, and Mr. Gregorovitch made up most of their yearly income. Everything else they made went right back into the ranch and the animals. Half of what they made from collecting wand cores went toward their household expenses. Food, clothing, and the like. They were able to put the rest towards their savings. To use as a small disposable income.

The point being, despite the lucrative wand core supply, the Morans were lived quite close to the bone. They couldn't afford for one wand to be custom made for her, never mind four of them. Not on a good day.

This wasn't a good day. They'd had to buy all her school supplies, and a load of supplies for the ranch as well. And her robes in particular would be expensive, since they needed to be charmed to accommodate her wings. It did make things more expensive initially. But it was necessary. It would get much more costly in the long run if she ripped through her clothes whenever she changed. Which was something she couldn't always control.

She looked between the two men for some kind of explanation. But it quickly became apparent that she wouldn't be getting one. Not now. And judging by the look on her father's face, probably not ever. He had that shifty look about him that he got when she was about to ask something he didn't want her to know.

Frank handed over one of the wands, seemingly at random, to her. He had a proud smile on his face as he said, "Willow and Phoenix feather, quite bendy. Give it a go."

It was the plainest of the four wands he'd made for her, but he seemed pretty sure of it. She took it from him and felt nothing. It was just wood in her hand. Like the wands of family members she had handled before. She could probably use it, but it didn't feel like anything special.

Frank seemed to have come to the same conclusion, as he took the wand back before Andrea even had the chance to try and use it. He hummed to himself as he placed the wand back in its box. Then he took it away into the back room, along with one of the other wands. The very ornate one. She got more of a look at it as Frank took it away. To her eye, it looked like the same wood. Willow, she thought he said.

He must've decided the wood didn't suit her after all, if he was putting it away without even giving it to her.

When he came back, he handed over the one with ogham carved into the handle. Andrea couldn't read ogham, so she had no idea what it said, but it looked nice.

"Ebony and Griffin feather, pretty solid."

Andrea took the wand, and immediately felt a cold tremor run up along her arm, over her shoulder, and down into her heart. It was such an unexpected and terrible feeling that she dropped the wand back onto the counter right away. Andrea was usually pretty comfortable with the cold. But that cold feeling caused a shiver to run through her entire body.

Frank seemed surprised, but didn't ask any questions. Just accepted that she just didn't work with that wand. He raised his eyebrows and picked the wand back up with an odd look at her. But he still didn't say anything about it. Just handed her the last wand, the ivory one.

To be honest, Andrea wasn't very hopeful. The wands he had made specifically for her weren't working very well. She put that down to her not having met Frank ever before. She didn't know much of anything about wandmaking. But she felt like making a custom wand would go better if you knew the person even a little bit.

But when she picked up the final wand, she felt like she might have to change her mind. Because this one one felt warm. Like coming in to have dinner on the table after a hard day's work. It was comforting to hold. Had a nice heft to it in her hand, from both the wood and the ivory. It felt like it was made for her, unlike the others. It fit perfectly in her tiny hands, where the others were a bit awkward and unwieldy to her.

She didn't wait for instruction this time. Andrea waved the wand and a shower of golden fireworks shot from the end. She let out an excited squeal and jumped up and down on the spot. She gave it another try, with a spell this time. It was just a simple summoning charm that her father had taught her a while ago.

She pointed the wand at a little empty box on the counter and thought 'Accio'. Even with the wand, the non-verbal magic was the most natural way to do magic for her. And the box flew toward her right away, and Andrea caught it out of the air. When she cast the spell, it was easy. It felt comfortable and right, in a way casting magic with a wand casting magic with a wand had never felt ever before for her.

She felt so great that she started laughing out loud, twirling the wand between her fingers. It still felt very comfortable in her hand. The heft made the way it moved predictable and easy to work with. And it still felt warm in her hand. Not not, just pleasantly warm, like it was something living and breathing.

She loved it.

Her father and Frank applauded, and her father clapped her on the shoulder. He had a big proud smile on his face that made Andrea feel like she'd done something amazing. Not just summoning an empty box.

Frank took the wand back with a smile and backed it back into the box, wrapping it in brown paper.

"Ebony, and Zhar Ptitsa feather. 11 3/4 inches, firm," he told her as he packed up the wand, "It wasn't the one i was really expecting to choose you. But it makes a lot of sense, now that I've met you."

Andrea didn't really know what that meant. All that information did was raise more questions for her. But they really didn't have time for her to bombard her father's friend with everything going through her head. So, she stuck with asking what she felt was the most pertinent question.

"Why's there ivory on it? I thought that was illegal."

"It's not ivory," he told her as he handed the box back to her, "It's bone. Adrien brought it for me to use, because they can help people with unusual magic to channel it through a wand."

Andrea was intrigued and a little bit horrified by that information. She gaped at him for a minute. When he didn't say anything, she turned to her father, gradually growing more horrified.

He, at least, had something to say about it.

"Mam was the one who told me about that. When she did, she told me to take one of her bones for your wand. To give you a connection you could use to help channel your magic."

That was the last thing she was expecting to hear. And it was extremely touching, that one of the last things her grandmother thought about was her. Helping her. And that now Andrea had a literal piece of her to carry with her. Always. One of that her last acts was to give Andrea that.

As they left Frank's shop, she found herself cradling the wand in its box close to her chest. Her heart heavy with missing her grandmother, and feeling so grateful to her. Andrea was so preoccupied with that, that she hardly noticed what was going on around her until they were back in the van. And half way through Meath.

It wasn't the finest example of her observational skills, that was for sure.


	8. Moran Family Reunions

**Chapter Seven**

 **Moran Family Reunions always end with Firewhiskey**

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 **Summary:**

The Moran family have a long held and sacred tradition of gathering together to eat good food, tell stories of past adventures, and occasionally do things that most would consider inadvisable, at best.

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A few days after Andrea's big trip to Dublin, there was a big party planned on Bóruma Island. It was the bi-annual family reunion, a tradition that was considered both mandatory and sacred among the Moran family. If you don't attend, you'd better have one hell of an excuse. An I nearly died and am currently trapped in St. Mungo's by idiot healers, kind of excuse.

The location of the reunion changed every time, but it was always hosted by one of the family. It changed all the time to make things fairer. So that travelling was shared equally. One year you might have to travel to Aunt Cat in Romania, the next time it could be just down the road. And it shares out the burden of hosting such a large gathering every two years.

That year, it was Andrea's father's turn to host. He hadn't really wanted to do it, but his name was the one picked out of the hat a few months ago. So, he started planning. And as the weeks went on, Adrien grew more and more excited about the whole thing.

It'd been a long time since the house was full. Ever since her grandmother died, it'd been just the two of them. The closer the reunion got, the more Adrien seemed to be looking forward to that being the case again. Because with a Moran family reunion came laughter, outrageous stories, and drunken exploits which would create more outrageous anecdotes.

Well, the exploits were fuelled by alcohol some of the time. The Morans didn't necessarily need alcohol to think doing crazy things was a good idea. Hell, a good portion of the funniest stories in their repertoire had nothing to do with alcohol. It was more like an optional extra for them, rather than a necessity, at their gatherings.

And news of Andrea's being accepted to Hogwarts had spread rapidly through the family. Her father was far too happy to keep it to himself for any longer than it took for Dumbledore to leave the house the evening he gave Andrea her letter. He Flooed half of them that very night. The rest of the family was informed by those in the know the following morning.

Safe to say, they were all very excited for her. Surprised, since everyone's expectations in that area were so low that they were non-existent. But positively delighted to be wrong about that. Which meant everyone had another, unexpected, reason to celebrate. And Andrea was the guest of honour.

Everyone was extremely excited to see each other for the first time in ages. And even more hyped up than normal for a reunion thanks to Andrea's good news. So, it was guaranteed to be a really, really good weekend.

By the time the day of the reunion came around Andrea, still running on a high from her shopping trip, was actually vibrating in her skin from excitement. Sitting at the kitchen table, tapping her foot incessantly. Focusing her considerable hearing a little too much on the front walk, to hear the first person to arrive. And when that wasn't enough, she turned and craned her neck around to peek out the window.

She knew this wouldn't make her family get there any earlier. She was well aware of that. But that didn't mean she was capable or at all willing to cut it out. No matter how many times her father told her she was going to give herself a stroke.

So when her first relative actually arrived, Andrea sprung into action sprung into action as if her chair had just been hit with the bombarda charm. Positively flying out of the kitchen. She sprinted to the door and flung it open, launching herself at Aunt Cat in a flying tackle of a hug. Where she latched onto her great aunt like a limpet.

Aunt Cat caught her with a booming laugh, and scooped her into a crushing hug. It'd been a long time since they'd seen each other, and letters just weren't enough to fill the void. For either of them. They held each other tightly, neither willing to let go. Which was why they were both very lucky that Aunt Cat was very spry for her age. Otherwise, their embrace would've likely ended in disaster. And possibly a broken hip.

It was for those reasons that young people didn't usually throw themselves at their elderly relatives. But Andrea was pretty confident that Aunt Cat could handle it. She worked with dragons every day, she could deal with a tiny eleven-year-old.

They stayed like that for long enough that Andrea didn't notice a few more of her relatives had begun to arrive. Until her cousin Mary stuck her head in between them with a bright smile.

"Wanna cupa?"

"That'd be lovely dear," Aunt Cat accepted with a smile of her own, "How's the new job going?"

Still holding onto Andrea, Aunt Cat walked into the house, which was beginning to fill up rather quickly. Her family was sitting around, crowding the massive kitchen. Making the largest pot of tea physically possible. And several of them. Hugging enthusiastically, and greeting each other with an almost alarming volume and delight.

"New job's going great!" Mary told them, with a happy bounce in her step, "Things are looking good for getting the bill on werewolf rights passed."

"That's great, love. It's about damn time that went through. Those poor people need to be looked after."

"What about the whole wolfsbane thing?" Andrea asked from where she rested her head on Aunt Cat's shoulder.

Mary sighed and shrugged her shoulders at Andrea, a little frustratedly, "That's not included in the bill. We had to leave that out so we could get the bill passed. But if all goes well we can get wolfsbane subsidised for people within the next few years."

"That's my girl," Aunt Cat congratulated her, "You're doing good work in the Ministry. And that's something I never thought I'd say about the Ministry."

"Thanks Aunt Cat," she said as she made her way to the nearest pot of tea and began making three mugs, "It's a hell of a lot better than working at Queen Maeve's. That old hag was unbearable. My new boss's a feckin' angel compared to her."

"That's not hard to accomplish," Aunt Cat grumbled, "Wish I could punch that bitch in the face."

"Aunt Cat," Mary said warily, "Should you say that in front of Andy? She's just a kid."

Andrea just laughed as Aunt Cat rolled her eyes. She set Andrea down to accept her mug of tea. Andrea took her own once she'd fixed her clothes again. It was one hell of a cup of tea. Somehow, Mary always knew just how people liked their tea. It was a knack which had undoubtedly came in very handy many times. Tea was a very serious matter, after all.

"Please, Mary. Like she hasn't heard worse from Adrien."

Just then, her father's impeccable timing appeared once again. In the form of an argument over the Kerry v Tyrone match of last weekend. The GAA was a subject that could rally many Irish people to anger at lightning speeds. Wizarding Irish were not immune from that, not in the slightest.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Jack? That cunt of a ref was more blind than great uncle Fergus!" was what he exclaimed loudly enough to carry across the increasingly crowded and noisy kitchen.

It was enough to make Andrea's great-great uncle Fergus swing around, narrowly avoiding getting set on fire by the stove, to agree with Adrien. Just as loudly as Adrien had spoken. And with just as much cursing involved.

At that, Mary sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, and conceded the point with a helpless wave of her hand. Andrea couldn't help but laugh at her over it. Mary lightly cuffed her over the head and stuck her tongue out at her younger cousin. Aunt Cat put a stop to their little tussle with a raised eyebrow and a disappointing look.

She didn't bother to break up the escalating dispute over the hurling match. Everyone with a pair of brain cells to rub together knew that was an utterly pointless effort. Especially when great uncle Fergus was involved. Nobody could stop that kind of crazy when it was in motion.

Instead, Andrea pulled out a chair for Aunt Cat and they started chatting with everyone else who'd arrived while they were caught up. It was great. Andrea learned all about what her family was up to for the last few years. She met their new spouses, and her new baby cousins. Including Niamh's four-month-old twins and her Veela husband. Who marked the second part of the Moran family that was part-human.

She and Adrien hadn't been able to get to the wedding or the christening. And it was wonderful to meet them. And to see how much they were welcomed and loved by the rest of the family. She really liked Jean, he was an intelligent and compassionate man. Which she discovered through him striking up a very interesting discussion with Mary about what she was doing in the Sentient Beasts Department.

And Niamh let her hold little Brendan. He was adorable, with his chubby little cheeks, and his tiny little fists. Which he was determined to fit into his toothless grinning mouth.

While Andrea was marvelling over her newest baby cousins, there was still a commotion going on among many of the adults. It had moved onto a general argument about the hurling all Ireland. And was quickly going in the direction of inevitable bets and dangerous, ill-advised dares. More rapidly than an ordinary person would've believed possible.

Eventually Andrea and her conversation companions couldn't ignore it anymore. If only because Jean was becoming increasingly confused and worried. It was his first Moran family reunion, though, so that kind of reaction was to be expected.

"Well, that escalated more quickly than I expected," Aunt Cat commented casually, and patted Jean's hand reassuringly, "But it'll be fine. It happens all the time."

"I didn't think we'd get to this point till we broke out the firewhiskey," Niamh agreed as she nursed little Owen and observed the wild gesticulating and overly adamant opinions.

Mary agreed and reached into her handbag and retrieved a large bottle of amber liquid.

"I think it's time," she said gravely as she cracked open the bottle, "The rest of us'll need it if we're gonna get through this with our sanity."

"Is this how all these reunions go?" Jean asked, clearly surprised by how prepared Mary was with regards to alcohol.

"Pretty much," Andrea told him cheerfully, "But don't worry, it's really fun to watch. Just don't let them get you involved."

"Sure," Jean replied dubiously, but accepted the generous splash of whiskey Mary poured into his mug of tea.

Once everyone of age was given a shot of whiskey, they all sat back and prepared to enjoy the ludicrous things that were about to happen.

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 **A/N** \- For those of you not familiar with Irish sport, the GAA stands for the Gaelic Athletic Association. It includes men and women's gaelic football, as well as hurling and camogie (what we call women's hurling). And for many people in Ireland it's a big part of their lives, and it's a large part of our culture in general. Not everyone's a fan, but a lot of us have relatives or friends who are involved and/or willing to very enthusiastically argue over the finer points of football and/or hurling.


	9. The Headmaster Returns

**Chapter Eight**

 **The Headmaster Returns**

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 **Summary:**

Professor Dumbledore returns to Borúma Island to discuss Andrea's attending Hogwarts. And a few little things they had to take care of before she started term.

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In the aftermath of the family reunion, they had a surprise guest. Although, it took him quite a while to gain entry to the house, since everyone under the age of seventeen was fast asleep. And everyone over the age of seventeen was asleep and severely hungover. With the exceptions of Niamh, Stacey, and Saoirse. Who had abstained since they were nursing.

But even they were so thoroughly passed out that the banging on the door was entirely ineffective at waking them. There was only one thing that could get exhausted and/or hungover parents out of bed. And Professor Dumbledore was a very lucky man. Because that one thing was their children crying. And the house was full of the Moran's children.

He was only let into the house by chance. Because Saoirse's husband Calum had gotten up the change Abby's diaper. And while he was trying to get her back to sleep he heard the knocking that was making his task incredibly difficult. How he hadn't noticed it in the first place, he blamed on the pounding headache.

Dumbledore was let into the house and led into the kitchen by a man who more closely resembled a zombie than a human. The only thing which prevented the former assumption to take hold was the cheerful baby in his arms.

This didn't seem to bother Dumbledore in the slightest. He was perfectly happy as he took a seat at the mug, glass, and bottle strewn table. He looked around with a small smile on his face as he watched Calum search for a clean mug while setting a kettle to boil.

"I caught the end of reunion, I assume?" he asked politely as he took Abby for a moment, so Calum could make their tea.

"Yeah," Calum rasped.

"I'm here to speak with Adrien and Andrea," he told Calum as he handed back the baby, "You and your little one can go back to bed."

"Thanks Professor," Calum said, in a slightly clearer tone, as he settled Abby and the tea into his hands in a way that was least likely to cause an accident, "I'll get them up for you once I have Abby down for a nap."

"There is no hurry my boy, take your time."

Which is how Andrea and several of her cousins were woken up by her uncle Calum trying to creep through her bedroom without tripping over any of them. He didn't succeed. They were woken up by a confused and pained grunt, as well as,

"Ah, shit! Fuck! Ow!"

Andrea shot up in bed, knocking Emily out of the bed and onto the floor. Which caused another round of the pained groaning and thuds from another room of people who'd just been woken up by the commotion in Andrea's room.

It was just a great big mess.

"Uncle Calum?" Andrea groaned blearily and tried to rub the sleep out of her eyes.

"Yeah," he answered dejectedly, from somewhere on the floor as far as she could tell, "Professor Dumbledore's here lookin' for you and your Da. They're waiting for you in the kitchen."

"Oh, okay," was all she had the mental capacity to reply to that with, "You alright Uncle Calum?"

"Yeah, I will be," he told her in a less than convincing tone, "Just, don't open the curtains? You've good night vision, right?"

"Sure," she agreed easily, crawled to the side of the bed to lean down and check on Emily, "Need a hand back up?"

"That'd be nice, yeah."

Andrea reached down and grabbed Emily's outstretched arms. With an unusual heave of effort for Andrea, she pulled her cousin up off the ground, and dumped her back onto the bed. Where she immediately snuggled back in under the covers, stole Andrea's pillow, and went back to sleep like nothing happened.

That was just how you learned to react to strange things in their family. Frankly, Andrea wanted to steal her pillow back and do the exact same thing. But she couldn't, and seeing her cousins going back to sleep made her extremely jealous.

Usually very energetic, Andrea found herself wiped out after hoisting Emily up from the floor. And she had no energy left to motivate herself to get out of bed and go downstairs.

But she somehow managed to face herself to crawl over Emily and root through her wardrobe for something to wear that wasn't pyjamas. Though she wasn't sure it'd look remotely like something a sane person would ever wear. Even as she throw it all on in the bathroom, she couldn't be bothered to look at what she was putting on her body.

Eventually, she stumbled downstairs, hardly looking where she was going. Still, she ended up in the kitchen where her father and future headmaster were waiting for her, as promised. Neither of them seemed particularly surprised by her appearance.

But, given that her father was wearing pyjama pants, a dress shirt, and a dressing gown. And Dumbledore was dressed in far too violent a scarlet for this early in the morning. Andrea wasn't going to place any bets on her not looking like a crazy person in that moment.

Still, she supposed, if she did look insane she was in good company. So she took a seat and a very welcome mug of tea. Yes, more tea. Tea was the answer for everything if you were in Ireland, with very few exceptions. And right then it was better than the Elixir of Life to Andrea.

"Hello Professor," she greeted Dumbledore and leaned into her father for both comfort and for support to keep her upright.

"Good morning, my dear girl," Dumbledore replied in kind, "Now that you and Adrien are both here there are just a few things I need to discuss with you both."

"Sure thing, Dumbledore. Lay it on us," Adrien said as cheerfully as he could at that moment.

"As you're both well aware, Andrea will not be an ordinary student. And Hogwarts is not an ordinary school ground," he began lightly, "Andrea is half-human. And Hogwarts hosts several species of sentient beasts. Her coming into their territory unannounced could cause some problems."

Adrien took a deep breath and rubbed over his forehead, "I hadn't thought about that. But, shit, you're right."

"I had," Andrea piped up.

It was something that had crossed her mind once or twice since she'd gotten her letter. She'd learned enough about how important territorial borders were from the merrows who lived around their island. And from her mother and her flock. It was a big deal to her mother's people and merrows. It made perfect sense to her that it'd be important to the creatures of Hogwarts as well.

She hadn't had any problems with territory borders before. Mainly because Borúma Island was, as far as everyone was concerned, her territory. The merrows considered their water territory on indefinite loan from her. The arctic harpies considered it okay to come to the island because it was the territory of their leader's child.

Even the other creatures on the island seemed to innately understand that. Which was likely why she never had any problems with any of the horses, griffins, or other wildlife on Borúma Island. She'd always been in her own territory.

So, going to Hogwarts where others controlled the territory for such a long time worried her a little. She'd never gone into an old carved out territory before. And she wasn't entirely sure how to go about doing so.

She hadn't been too worried about it, though. Andrea was planning on writing to her mother and talking to the merrows for advice. Her only problem was how to do it without drawing a lot of attention to herself when she got to Hogwarts. Her heritage was supposed to be kept quiet, after all.

So, if Dumbledore had a plan to take care of that, the problem would be about half way solved.

"I had thought you might have," Dumbledore nodded at her solemnly, "And while I cannot solve the problem of the introductions for you, I can facilitate them."

"Really?" Adrien asked, looking a little less distraught, "How do we do it then?"

"Well, I would suggest getting in contact with Andrea's mother. She will be able to teach Andrea how to handle the situation," he advised, saying what Andrea had thought would be a good option, "And I will arrange with Hagrid to make the introductions before term starts."

"When'd that be?" Andrea asked, "I'll need to know when I write to Mam."

"Two weeks before term, I think, should suffice," he answered.

Andrea nodded, because as far as she knew that was a reasonable plan.

"I will come back on the eighteenth of August and bring you both to Hogsmeade. Hagrid will meet us there and take you to meet the centaurs, and the wolf pack in the Forest. And the merrow tribe in the Black Lake."

"Sounds like a plan, then, Dumbledore," Adrien agreed looking relieved, then turned to Andrea who was still cuddling into him, "Looks like we've gotta write your Mam, love."

Andrea smiled brightly, despite how tired she still was. Any excuse to see her mother was something to be happy about, as far as she was concerned.


End file.
